About Right

My apologies for talking so much about the looming end of my service on here, but I find it difficult to think of anything else right now. It's weird. The little knotted ball of anxiety that formed in my stomach just before I left home two years ago has returned. It's not like any other ball of anxiety. It's the lots-of-stress-and-tearful-farewells-on-the-horizon ball. The one that shakes you awake at 3am to ask where your original passport is and isn't calmed until you go and find it, just where you left it two years ago. The one that can't stop pondering the amount of material a person can accumulate in 24 months. The one that pitches the hardest each time you say goodbye to someone and wonder how many more times you'll get to say goodbye. Just when you seem to strike a balance in your life, a balance that gives you enough work to keep you involved and busy, enough free time to take long walks and learn to cook, enough friends to have weekend plans and tea times, and enough confidence to feel good about where you're at and what you're doing, it's time to wrap things up in a tidy package and say goodbye. When I signed up for the peace corps, one of the main things I was hesitant about was the two year commitment. Two years? Might as well sign my life away. Why isn't there a one year peace corps program? Well, once I reached my one year mark, the answer was obvious. After a year, I was truly still at the beginning. And if I word it in my head a certain way, I will always be at the beginning. So many unanswered questions and unrealized projects remain that it's difficult to feel like I've accomplished anything. BUT when I think about how hard I've tried and about the things I've been a part of and have witnessed, it all makes sense. It all seems about right. The past two years will never fit into a tidy, easy to handle package. They will remain in a massive heap on the attic floor. A heap that can be carefully and lovingly picked over, with forgotten shining treasures showing up in odd locations.

Unconditional

Now that my tutor's two year long maternity leave has ended, she's been back at the high school teaching English. So instead of tutoring lately, I've been going and observing her classes just to get a feel for what a more realistic, every day classroom is like instead of the "special-occasion" classes I've been teaching. The first class I observed was all tenth grade girls preparing for some sort of essay competition. I chose to sit quietly and unobtrusively in the back, hoping to blend into the wallpaper (as tends to be my norm) and disturb the class as little as possible. As a native English speaker, I figured the class would be a piece of cake and I'd know everything that was going on the whole time. Ha. After the students read the ideas they had written down for their essays, Miha went over conditionals. Conditionals are typically "if" statements, like "If you bake cookies, I will eat them". Simple, right? Well, there are a few different types of conditionals. Four, to be exact. There is the type 0 conditional, which contains present simple verbs in both the if clause and the main clause. For example, the sentence "If you heat cookie dough, it bakes" is a type 0 conditional. As Miha explained this and wrote on the chalk board, the students busily copied in their notebooks. Type 1 conditionals consist of an if clause with a present simple verb and a main clause with a future simple verb, such as "If you bake cookies too long, they will burn." Type 2 conditionals are used to express unreal situations in the present or future. At this point in the lecture, Miha caught my eye. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Am I incorrect?" It was at that moment, as all of the students turned to look at me, that I became aware of the expression on my face and immediately took action to correct it. I tried to untwist the look of utter confusion and fear into a smile and said "Oh, no. Looks good to me!" The students smiled and turned back towards the board just as the bell rang and Miha assigned the night's homework. Conditionals.
Thank you, stars, for the fact that high school was ten years ago.

The Other Shoe

Shortly after arriving in Romania (which occurred exactly two years ago today), I met a few volunteers who were at the end of their terms. They had just attended their Close of Service conference and were winding down their projects and disentangling themselves from life here. They seemed so knowledgeable back then, so wise. And calm. I couldn't wait to be in those comfy, well worn shoes. I didn't want to steal their plane tickets and go home, I didn't want to magically speed things up, I just hoped that I could make it to that point some day and emanate the same sereneness. Then, two months later, after a blink of the eye, those volunteers were gone. Poof. The end. I'm getting on a train tomorrow afternoon that will take me to the city of Sibiu, where my own Close of Service conference will be held. Then, two months later, I'll be boarding a plane Reno-bound...poof. The end. In many ways, I can't believe I made it. Two years ago, I think I would have pegged myself as the first to go home, but I like the fact that I am capable of surprising myself.

Stages

Tonight, after an enthusiastic session with the drama club and an interesting showing of Hamlet, I walked home with three of the club members and one of the teachers. The five of us chatted about science fiction novels, Harry Potter movies, Star Wars, Shakespeare and baked goods. We discussed the next play for the club and how difficult it is to work with the younger students. We laughed about how my voice gets high-pitched and quiet when I want the students to focus and stop being silly. Finally, as we went our separate ways, we joked about next year and how I won't be here. In the silent space between them and my front door, I pictured this place without me and felt the sliver of soon-to-be sorrow deepen. Another one of life's stages that will be sorely missed.

Erin Papi

I believe I have created a monster. A cookie monster, much like myself (I am indeed eating a cookie AT THIS VERY MOMENT). I like to make cookies and give them to people, so I've been doing that sporadically for my tutor over the past two years. Her son Luca will turn two in April and has taken on the energy and chaos of a tornado. Their apartment has one of those kitchen connecting living room connecting hallway connecting kitchen circles that any child or energetic dog would love to make themselves dizzy with and many times my tutoring session contains at least 5 minutes of watching Miha chase Luca around and around, until he's caught or takes a faulty step and plows full speed into the washer door, making it slam shut. As he's gotten older, he's been allowed to sample my cookie offerings and has developed a strong affinity for the snickerdoodle. So much so that the other day, as he ran his laps and Miha chased him, I pulled out the signature flimsy plastic baggie filled with goodies and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Erin papi?" he asked as he took a tentative step towards me, eyes wide. Papi means snack and the way he says "Erin" pretty much melts my heart. I confirm his hopes, "Da, Erin papi." I hand the bag to Miha and feel a bit dejected as his attention immediately snaps to her. By the time Miha gets the bag open and hands him a (possibly not so) well deserved snickerdoodle, he has said "Erin papi" about twenty times and has stretched to his absolute tallest tippy toes reaching for the bag. She thanks me for the cookies and asks me to please write the recipe down so she can make them. Apparently he asks for "Erin papi" every thirty minutes or so every day. I can't help but feel a small dash of pride at creating another cookie monster. I do not, however, endorse children eating cookies every day. Unless it's an Erin papi.

Lists

It seems to be customary for many volunteers to create some lists right about now, with a little over two months to go. One list to bring back the good memories, one list to bring back the not so good and one list to remind me of why I missed home so much. So, here goes, in no particular order.

List Number One: What I'll miss
1. My tutor Mihaela and her two-year-old son Luca (he was born just before I arrived) greeting me at the door every time I show up for tutoring and bidding me farewell each time I depart.

2. The little crafting adventures Anca, her three-year-old daughter Dodo (short for Theodora) and I embark on whenever we get together - whether it's painting eggs, baking cookies, planting tomatoes, creating Christmas ornaments, making paper stars or pressing juice, it never ceases to be awesome.

3. Hearing the drama club chatting excitedly from our classroom before I enter and getting a small sample of their uninhibited enthusiasm.

4. Letting the English Hour at the EPA slip into a brief gossip in Romanian session.

5. Responding to all of the goodbyes and thank yous after a successful American Corners class.

6. Visiting my favorite little craft shop and chatting with the kindest shop keeper in the world.

7. Going to the post office and picking up packages from the lady who knows me by name now...though I don't know hers.

8. Fresh fruits and veggies from the piata in summer.

9. Trains.

10. The view from my apartment.

11. The sounds of church bells and horse shoe clomps.

12. Wonderful volunteer friends, who I will hopefully see in the states some day.

13. Being able to walk everywhere.

14. Drinking tea and reading in my favorite coffee shop, Tein.

15. Wandering around our nature reserve, Reci.

16. Ease of TRAVEL.

17. Te pups.

18. Romanian and Hungarian.

I'm realizing this list could go on quite a while, so I'll end it here.


List Number Two: Things I Will Not Miss
1. Stray dogs and the poop that goes with them.

2. Knowing that my landlords (who I do actually really like, just not this part) could drop by unexpectedly at any moment to fill up my fridge and freezer with more of their own stuff.

3. The language barrier.

4. The pressure to always be out integrating and being a good, productive, useful volunteer.

5. The crazy corruption and bizarre bureaucracy that exist here.

6. Icy sidewalks that never get salted or shoveled.

7. Smelly, drunk, rude men. Especially on the trains.

8. Touchy train conductors.

9. The bubble-gum way things are often fixed.

10. The mischievous malicious mosquitoes.

11. Discrimination towards minorities, especially the Rroma.

12. Homophobia.

13. Late trains.

14. Grody bathrooms without toilet paper and/or hand soap.

15. The mold growing on some of my walls.

16. Crazy arse drivers.


List Number Three: What I'm Looking Forward To
1. Actually hanging out in person with my family and friends. Hugs.

2. Going for long walks with mom and Ozzie.

3. Meeting all the new babies and puppies and kitties and goats that people have acquired.

4. Kickboxing till I can't move.

5. Bibo and the American coffee culture.

6. Access to English books that I want to read.

7. Swimming in Lake Tahoe till I turn blue!

8. A wide variety of restaurants with a wide variety of food options.

9. Oh man, relearning moonlight sonata and all my other songs.

10. Shopping in stores with sizes and styles that I like.

11. Painting pottery at clay canvas.

12. Going to shows, concerts, plays and movies in a language that I can understand.

13. Weddings.

14. The clear, blue desert sky and the dusty brown hills. Nevada.

15. English.

16. Chocolate chips and all the other baking supplies I've been having shipped over.

17. Cheap contact solution.

18. MINI EGGS!!!

There. My customary lists are complete. There's quite a bit more that I could add to each, but this covers the basics, I think. Time for bed!

The Power of the Pup

The most common way for women to greet one another here is to kiss each other on both cheeks. Typically, you kiss the left cheek first, then the right, which I figured out after many an awkward moment. Occasionally, this will happen a couple of times. Left cheek, right cheek, then back to left and one more on the right. Just for good measure. Men also do this from time to time, to women who are not their wives nor their girlfriends and even to other men. For how homophobic the majority of Romania seems to be, it's a pleasant shock to see two young men pecking cheeks and firmly embracing. Pecks between men seem to be reserved for the closest friends, and only for special occasions. In Romanian, to kiss one's cheek is to "pup", which is pronounced, amusingly, "poop". "Te pup" means "I kiss you" and "ne pupam" means "we kiss each other". Te pup is most commonly said amongst close girlfriends when they are departing and I always feel a rush of glee when somebody says it to me. It's not a phrase typically used between basic acquaintances. You have to earn your pups, so whenever I hear a "te pup!" aimed my way, I know I've done something right. The best, though, is when you greet someone and get the actual pups. On your cheeks. Yes, it was very awkward at first, but now it's often the highlight of my day. And yesterday just happened to be the Happy New Year pup-fest at work. The best pup-fest of them all. I hadn't been to work in nearly a month due to vacations and my aversion to the place since my counterpart quit, but now that I'm back and needing things to do, I decided to go in. Every single lady and a few of the guys I ran into gave me a heart felt pup on each cheek and welcomed me back with open arms.

Some days are just really nice.